


Five Quickies and the One Time They Didn’t

by Attic_Nights



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Obliviousness, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-10 12:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attic_Nights/pseuds/Attic_Nights
Summary: A silly series of semi-ludicrous blowjobs between mates.Or, Roger keeps giving Brian blowjobs, and Brian is baffled right up until the moment he isn't.





	1. Drunk and no dreams will come true

**Author's Note:**

> Updated daily.

It started with them sitting on the back of their van, feet on the pavement and faces to the sky.

“What do the stars say?”

“Christmas number one goes to _Smile_.”

Brian’s tone was serious but within seconds, they started giggling. Roger fell into where he sat, warm and comfortable in the cold of the night. When Brian looked up, he could see snowflakes in Roger’s hair like white stars melting in a golden nebula. He stopped laughing.

Roger made a happy noise and gestured with his beer to the sky. “What’s that one?”

“Sirius,” he guessed, from the ten or so constellations at which Roger could have pointed.

“Yeah I’m serious.”

Brian laughed in surprise and with the alcohol buzzing through their veins they were soon rolling together, backs against the floor of the van. He dislodged his arm from where it was pinned and wrapped it around Roger's shoulders. Roger, heat-seeking limpet he was, snuggled in deeper. 

“We sucked tonight.”

Brian winced and cocked his head. “There’s room for improvement,” he began. “Maybe you could swap with Tim for the vocals once in a –”

Roger began giggling.

“—No, you have a good stage presence.” More laughter from Roger. “You do!”

“Oh Brian!” Roger affected a falsetto voice and swung his hair. “I couldn’t possibly!”

As Roger swung about, so close and warm, Brian suddenly felt like he’d had either too much or too little alcohol. He shifted, only to have his semi brush against Roger. He froze, a curse on his lips. Traitorous cock.

To his surprise, Roger snorted and grabbed his cock. With his hand.  Roger’s hand, his cock. In self-defence, he started reciting the speed of light. _Six seven zero…_

“Shit Bri!”

_Six one six..._

“How long has it been?”

“Six—” _Fuck two nine…_

 “That’s far too long mate.”

_Miles per hour… hand still there._

“I-it’s not so long – bad. Um.” _Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars…_

“Bri, if your best mate, me, putting on a girl’s voice, awakes the cock, then the cock clearly has been neglected. We’re in a bloody rock band for piss sake.”

Brian tried to roll his eyes and put a semblance of sanity into his voice. “We should close the van up.” Drive, get home, wank, shower, wank, sleep, wank…   _Jupiter, Saturn…_

Roger gave his jewels a thoughtful squeeze and then let go. He stood up on unsteady legs, but his elfin face seemed sober enough. Brian pulled his knees up to his chest.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good friend,” Roger told him, and shut the van doors, the lock clicking loud in the still air.

Brian didn’t stand up, his cock saluting the queen as it were. Subjecting Roger to feeling his cock was one thing, but forcing the rigid sight upon him was another. Luckily the light was dim, but Brian could see enough that he noticed when Roger sat back down, facing him.

“Next time,” Roger started, “Next time you really need to answer the pussy call, mate. After a gig,” Roger made a gulping noise, “When they’re giving you the come hither, pick a nice one, treat the girl.”

Brian felt his legs being pushed apart and a warm body slide between. He realised his eyes had fallen shut.

“I’m only doing this since you’re hopeless. This is a medical intervention. Six weeks!” Roger giggled, and Brian couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Roger always had such an infectious laugh. “Apologies in advance though  –  haven’t done this since school.”

“Roger,” he said, half plea, half warning.

“Forget it’s me. Imagine that leggy blonde that was eyeing you. The one with the legs. Tall.”

Brian gasped as he was unzipped and a hand grasped him. It was calloused, strong. He could smell Roger’s aftershave and hear the scrape of jeans as his friend leant down. He had, he decided, enough booze to just enjoy this. Roger being…

“Oh! That’s nice.”

Roger seemed to take it as encouragement and repeated the action, pumping his fist while licking the top with a sloppy kiss. Brian shuddered and let out a soft moan.

And while it had been a while – _not_ six weeks! Well, maybe seven… He looked down at his friend, hair shining in the low light, and felt an absurd rush of fondness. Without thinking, he touched the blond head, felt the softness, the smoothness, and the occasional damp spot from a melted snowflake, and gasped as Roger took him into his mouth. Sloppy wet heat, a bit too much teeth, but really, he wasn’t lasting long like this.

He tightened his grasp on Roger’s hair when he felt himself close to orgasm, wanting to push his cock deeper, but the small, sane part of his brain was telling him that he shouldn’t repay his friend’s kindness by coming in his mouth. 

Reluctantly he pulled Roger up – disengaged that mouth and finished in Roger’s hand.

Brian laid there, blissfully boneless, with a clear head and limbs as light as a feather. He felt Roger zip him up and wipe his hands on his jacket.

“Thanks,” Brian said sincerely. Roger just snorted.


	2. Never had a good one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to hopefully always typing "Brian" not "Brain".

They’re between gigs on the road when it happens the second time.

For some reason, they were talking about blowjobs. _He_ wasn’t talking about blowjobs, and to give credit, neither was John. Good mate, Deacy. _They_ at least had decorum for things like this. Especially in Cornish pubs where the locals were all built like tanks.

And then Freddie turned his focus on him. Dread pooled in his stomach. The sort of dread only matched by death and missed essay deadlines.

“Oh no.”

“’No’, as in you’ve never had one? Darling, even Deacy can tell you about them. Can’t you, darling?”

Deacy’s only answer was to smile knowingly – his first contribution to the conversation – which set Freddie and Roger off in cackles.

Brian felt his face flame up. “No—Oh, they’re all right…”

Over Freddie’s laughter, Roger’s sudden voice could be heard, crisp and even. “ _All_ _right_?”  

Of course, what a time to forget… whatever it was. A year or so ago, the van… _A blowjob, technically,_ his mind supplied. _Courtesy of Roger_. They hadn’t mentioned it since, and they remained just as close, pissing about as they had done before. Just a mate being nice to a mate, yeah? To be frank though, he had thought of it since, most frequently when him and Roger shared hotel rooms. Like tonight.

“It was _fine_.”

He winced and cast a look at Roger, who apparently hadn’t forgotten. The laughter was gone from his face, leaving it pale and still.

Without thinking, he floundered: “Nice, even!”

He swallowed, face going to supernova levels of heat. Embarrassment for slighting his friend’s blowjob skills coiled with embarrassment of the image of him coming over said friend in the back of the van.

 “Clearly you’ve never had a good one,” announced Freddie, and Roger’s face seemed to shut down.

Thankfully, Freddie didn’t seem to notice and the conversation quickly moved to a safer topic, courtesy of a Cream song belting from the jukebox. Brian looked at Roger once, but he seemed to be very interested in his fingernails, his face a kind of flushed red. Brian soon finished his pint and excused himself.

In his room – their room – Brian sat on his bed and stared at Roger’s bed. Five, ten, perhaps an hour went by without his roommate.

After what seemed a cliché, the door unlocked and Roger stumbled in, his hair wild. His white shirt was speckled with rain and his cheeks were flushed rosy red. He seemed to grow taller when he saw Brian and loomed there, above him.

 “Oh, Rog--!” he began. “Look. I’m a tosspot.”

Roger snorted and started to pace.

“I am really sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You weren’t bad, honest.”

Roger started advancing on him, a manic light in his eye.

“Roger. Look. I don’t know what to say… thank you for giving me a blowjob when I was horny that time in the van? Forgive me, Rog. Please?”

Without realising he’d even moved, Brian found the wall at his back.

“What was it – teeth?”

Brian answered with a small nod.

“Hands?”

He shook his head. Roger was now really, _really_ close. And waiting.

Brian cleared his throat and clarified. “Your hands were great. Fantastic, even!”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “Depth?”

Brian hesitated a second too long and Roger sighed.

“Well,” Roger said airily. “I can’t help it if you can’t spot talent.”

Brian smiled shakily. “Got you in the band, didn’t I?”

At that comment, Roger pushed his shoulders against the wall. They stared at each other, and Brian breathed faster and faster. Blue eyes seemed to flash wounded pride, then resolute defiance.

And Roger knelt.

He worked slower this time. As if learning every part of Brian’s cock; how it reacted, moved, twitched and wept.

He stared at his friend's head, those rosy lips stretched wide, barely able to comprehend that this was happening. _Again._

"Shit, Rog..."

Brian pressed against the wall and grasped blond hair in his hands, needing an anchor. Roger opened his mouth wider, wider than he had done so last time, keeping teeth down to the barest scrapes.

With a shaky exhale, Brian thrust forward. Carefully, over his friend’s silky tongue and cheeks. At Roger’s groan, he pulled back, only to realise it not as a complaint. So he gently thrust again, seeming to slide down further, pulling back only when Roger’s throat fluttered with the need to breathe. At one point, Roger swallowed enough of his length down to rest his chin against Brian’s balls.

“Oh god.”

After that, perhaps with the effort it took – who was Brian to know what it was like to gulp a cock - Roger’s hand worked his base while he lathed the head. Brian whimpered when Roger kissed the tip, and whimpered again when Roger kissed it again.

His peak was rushing towards him, dark and deep and pulled from his very kneecaps.

“I’m… close… oh—!”

Roger looked up at him and there, making eye contact with his best mate, he came down his throat.

“Fuck!” Brian said, but didn’t put much wind into it. Blearily he slid down the wall until he faced Roger, who pulled a face.  

Roger spat him out onto the floor and rubbed his jaw. He looked so fucked out and goddamned _sexy_.

“All right?” asked Roger.

Breathily he replied, “Better.”

And didn’t bother to duck from the pillow Roger threw at him.


	3. Japan, Blue Balls, Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during that first Japan tour - still in the early days of fame, and before recording Bohemian Rhapsody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the tense change. I hate tenses. Traitors, they are. 
> 
> The song Brian's composing at the start is '39.

Brian’s high on adrenaline, thinking about black holes and time dilation when his hotel door pounds.

“A moment!” he yells, and puts down his lyric draft.

Behind his door, and clearly two sheets to the wind is –

“Roger?" He blinks. "All right?”

Roger smiles at him, slowly, manically, and yells back “Brian!”

 Brian finds himself stumbling under the weight of a lopsided hug. Somehow, in the wee hours of the night, Roger’s transformed into a sack of limbs.

“Right. Let’s get you inside,” he says as he hoists a clinging Roger into the – well, onto his tatami mat. He could have sworn he was aiming for the chair. For his part, Roger seems content to let go and bounce on the low-rise Japanese bed. He’s also somehow still standing.

“We were gods tonight! Champions!” Roger puffs up his hair and mimes playing the guitar.

Brian closes the door and gestures. “Oi. Shoes off the bed.”

Roger pouts and pulls at his clothes. He's wearing something very similar to what he wore on stage – a revealing, tight number – except he now has a jacket tied around his waist. His face is flushed and his lips look bitten red. Brian wonders who the lucky girl was.

He suddenly feels very tired.

“Ere, Bri. The Japanese are a bit of all right.”

“Yes, there are some lovely women here, Rog.”

Roger rolls his eyes and mocks his polite tone. “The Japanese are lovely, except fucking look!”

 Roger whips off his jacket and points at his crotch. Roger’s crotch points back and Brian gulps. 

“They were _twins!”_ Roger bemoans, oblivious to Brian’s brain shorting out. Blond hair flicks out dramatically. “My friend,” continued Roger. “I’ve been done an injustice. Abandoned, my poor John Thomas!”

Brian watches with an odd fascination as Roger palms himself, seemingly to illustrate his story, which continues without Brian’s input.

“—and then she said ‘good night’! Good night!? Bri, mate, you lovely tosspot. I need your help. They’ve left me to suffer.”

“The twins?” asks Brian, trying to pull back the conversational thread.

“All womankind!” Roger laughs lowly and shuffles closer. Brian stares at those big, blue eyes and swallows. He feels rather than sees Roger’s hand lift and brush his curls from his face. “But they don’t know, do they?”

He draws in a shaky breath and wonders. The day has come. It's his turn. Is this the moment Brian admits he’s never sucked cock before? Oh god, what if Roger thought it was “all right”? What a kerfuffle. He’d never hear the end of it. Slowly, he mirrors Roger, sliding his hand through knotty blond hair. If Roger can do it, then he could try it. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He breathes in the smell of booze, perfume and sweat. Right. But first he had to ask –

“All right, Roger?”

“You’re a good friend.” Roger confirms, leaving Brian confused.

The smaller man pulls back slightly and bends down. But instead of pulling down his own trousers, Roger shoves Brian’s down, pants and all.

Brian’s eyes make a quick dash out of his eye sockets.

“Are you sure Rog? You’re a bit pissed—“

Roger giggles and kneels on the futon. “Got to practice, remember?”

He smiles wryly in response and starts when he hears the sound of a zipper. He and looks down to see Roger palm himself through his pants. His friend’s erection strains against the material, a wet spot already appearing near the top. Within seconds, Roger moves to release the trapped todger.

 “Sure, but Roger— ah!”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he says automatically, then catches himself. “Roger!”

Roger pulls off him in a wet slurp, blue eyes blinking guilelessly at him. And _oh_. That’s my friend’s hard on. He’s stopped wanking his cock; his hand is loose around the rigid base and blond curls, ready to stop. Suddenly Brian wonders if Roger is as drunk as he’s acting, and blushes.

“Er…”

“Good.” Roger articulates the word carefully. “‘Cause I’m fucking horny.”

“Roger that.”

Roger slaps his bare arse and gets to work.

Brian’s feeling more and more dizzy each time he looks at Roger pumping cock in hand as he vacuums Brian’s with his mouth. Hot, sloppy kisses snake around his head and blue eyes catch his. He moans and tries not to come.

They both manage to lose their trousers within the first few minutes, under a mutual silent agreement that they needed to spread.

This time Roger pulls his hands to his hair, encouraging him to hold onto him like that. Brian does so, and thrusts experimentally. When Roger makes a happy noise he thrusts again, deeper and deeper, pulling back only to have Roger slather his cock some more.

He can see by the flush of his face that Roger is close; his hand is moving faster, no longer in time to the bob of his eager mouth.

“Fuck.”

He tries to pull Roger away, give him warning, but the bastard simply took the head into his mouth and sucks. With fascination, Brian watches as his friend begins to shudder, tense up and moan around his cock, and within moments shoots up hot streams onto his chest. Bafflingly, Brian comes to the sight.

Roger pulls off. He settles back to the bed and grins. Brian has a brief moment of ‘ _where did it go?_ ’ before realising _oh. He’s swallowed._

They sit in silence for a little while, until he winds his arm around Roger and pulls them into the futon. They fit together well; Roger snuggled into the crook of his arm.

“Bri?”

“Hm?”

“Was I really that bad the first time?”

Brian makes a confused noise. “Oh! No…” he says, patting Roger’s head.

“Cheeky.” Roger leans over to squeeze his bollocks, just this side of painful. Brian batters away his mate’s hand, wincing at him in annoyance.

 “I liked it,” he admits. He swallows. “Roger? You like this?”

“Bri you tuss, this is why you never get a good shagging.” Roger lights a contemplative ciggy. “Aside from with me, that is.”

“Well, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Git.”

 “I gotta clean up,” says Roger suddenly, stubbing out his ciggy in the bedside ashtray. Brian watches him go, collecting his shoes in one hand and his discarded jacket in the other. A part of him longs to call out to his friend and ask him to stay. He doesn’t, and Roger gives him a cheery wave farewell from the door.

Brian waits for hours, but Roger doesn’t return.


	4. Petulance in Herefordshire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys fight during their farmhouse stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My respects and apologies to Wodehouse.

The next day nothing changes. Roger jokes, laughs and argues with him, Freddie, and even John. He yells, he cries, he sings and he flops into Brian’s open arms. Days turn into weeks, then months, and by then Brian’s just put the blowjobs off as baffling experiences best not dwelled on.

Sometimes, there are moments when he thinks he sees a look in Roger’s eye. A sidewise glance, like he’d been watching him and got lost in his own world. And sometimes, when Roger’s stuck something in his mouth, Brian feels an odd heat in his gut. But those moments are quickly shaken off.

This was not one of these moments. At this moment, Brian had the very distinct image of an angry woodpecker pecking his brain out through his temples.

“How was I to know you weren’t joking?”

“Good one! I love to spend ages working on a song so I can give it to my mate as a JOKE.”

Brian winced and held his hands up in surrender. “Musically, it is a lovely song. And you sound great singing it.”

Roger paused in his pacing to throw him a suspicious look. “But?”

“Right, _but_ have you thought about tweaking the lyrics a bit?”

“Oh, because you’re always right! The great Brian Fucking May!”

“I am right!” A teacup missed his head by inches. “Very mature. But seriously. _I’m in Love with my Car?_ ”

“Well I don’t like _Sweet Lady_!”

Brian looked at him, flabbergasted. Why, just yesterday, he had admitted it was a challenging piece! In the brief silence, Freddies’ voice rose up from below them through the old farmhouse’s floorboards.

_“...love of my life…”_

Screw this, thought Brian. He didn’t need this kind of symbolism in his life. At least, not about his best friend. He pushed past an irate Roger, stormed down the stairs and slammed the back door shut. For a moment, he felt a rush of vertigo at the bucolic sight of _chickens_ , then gathered his anger and stomped over to where he could see a copse of trees.

Behind him he could hear the sound of the door slamming again.

“Oi!”

Over the roaring in his head he could hear Roger running as he struggled to catch up to Brian’s long, angry strides. In moments, Roger had him pushed against a tree.

“I’m not finished with you, you wanker! You need to give in, damn it!” His blue eyes flashed brightly, and with his white shirt and blonde hair he looked increasingly less like a grown, sane man and more like a homicidal fried egg. Brian held the glare unflinchingly and after a moment, Roger looked away. His voice wavered a bit. “According to you, I’m not good at anything! Not even fucking blowjobs!”

He felt his anger disperse a bit. “You need to learn how to take feedback.” And here he paused, embarrassed. “When you do, you’re brilliant. And you give brilliant blowjobs. Especially after taking on my feedback!”

“How brilliant.”

“Bloody brilliant blowjobs.”

Roger squinted at him, his face no longer an angry red. “You’re a real tosspot, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I am!”

Roger replied with an almost amused huff of air. Shifting, he walked and leant his back against a tree. In the afternoon light, his hair was dappled gold and white, and his eyes were a brilliant gleam against the dark of the shadows. He looked small but intense, and Brian got the thought that this may be a turning point. Until –

“Why can’t you just like my song?”

“Oh bloody –” Brian stalked over to him and pinned his shoulders to the tree. He loomed over his smaller friend and said very slowly, very clearly: “Because. You’re. My. Friend.”

And kissed him.

Whatever reply Roger wanted to make got stuck between them. He could feel it between his lips, a light vibration and a tongue flick over a truncated word. He pulled away to the sight of his friend with reddened lips and flashing eyes. Roger’s mouth opened again and so Brian kissed him again. It only felt natural.

 Roger seemed to go boneless between them, forcing him to just about pick up the man to keep him standing. The kiss got brutal; teeth and tongues and –

“Ow!”

Roger didn’t apologise. Instead he moved to the juncture between Brian’s neck and shoulder, and sucked. He felt himself grow hard – the angriest hard-on he’d ever had – and pulled one of Roger’s hands to it. Roger, in his first spark of intelligence today, took the hint and started palming him through his corduroys.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before the trousers grew too tight to be comfortable. With one hand tangled in Roger’s hair, he pulled him off where his mouth had suckered onto his shoulder. Roger’s eyes were nearly black and Brian felt his stomach flip. Those eyes were trained on his lips, he realised, and watched as a pink tongue darted out as if in hunger.

He kissed his friend hungrily, angrily, putting all his frustrations and months of confusion into it. Roger fought back twice as hard, though he seemed softer near the end. With a pang, Brian watched his friends sink to his knees and release him.

“Oh Rog,” he gasped at the first lick of his cock. “I’ve missed you.”

Roger choked and bit him slightly. Brian took that as a sign to shut up.

He put his forehead against the tree and started fucking into Roger’s mouth. At this angle he could see his cock pumping in and out of his friend’s generous mouth, the hand that squeezed at his base, and the other hand that worked an equally hard erection.

Within minutes, Roger tensed up, coming as soon as he finally looked up and met Brian’s eyes. His wide blue eyes seemed open, giving, beautiful. Brian let his cock fall from  battered lips. With exasperated fondness he watched his friend shudder through orgasm. Gently, Brian stroked his hair until the end, loving how Roger’s face squeezed tight and slackened.

After a bit of Roger sitting there, eyes half mast, Brian took his cock into hand and worked it quickly, wondering what it would look like if he came over his friend’s face. He didn’t, instead striping the ground next to the tree.

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he slumped next to Roger, on the side of the tree without the spunk on the ground. Roger rested his head against his shoulder and sighed. Together, they listened to the distant sound of chickens and the closer sounds of their breathing. After a couple of minutes, his friend sighed and stood. Brian watched almost sadly when he tucked his cock back in to his trousers and wiped the sheen from his face. He didn’t stand up, didn’t complain when Roger lit a ciggy and didn’t cough when he blew smoke in his general direction.

“Was that an apology?”

 “Wanker,” commented Roger as he started to walk back to the farmhouse.

“Sorry,” he called out, heartfelt.

 “I lied before,” Roger said, not looking back. Brian’s breath hitched. “I like playing _Sweet Lady_.”


	5. Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this wasn't quite how the chapter was meant to happen. There was meant to be more angst, where Brian continues to confuse himself more and more, and at times I feel I got bogged down a little. In the end, I deleted the angst from this chapter to keep it zany. I'm tempted to either:
> 
> a. split the last chapter in two to add in the 'deleted scenes', or  
> b. keep the story light and delete the aforementioned 'deleted scenes'.
> 
> Would love to hear some thoughts before I make an executive decision.
> 
> On that thread, I am both baffled and overjoyed at the reception this story has got so far. I did not expect it to have so many readers! I just want you all to know that I appreciate (and squee over) every comment, kudos and bookmark. Thank you all for sticking with the blowjob express!

The next morning he wakes early and joins Deacy for a friendly cuppa and a peaceful bit of toast. 

“Did Roger, er, hit you?” asked Deacy after a bit, looking concerned.

Brian saluted with his mug. “Nah, the teacup missed.”

“No, I mean…” Deacy blushed and gestured to his neck. Brian mirrored the action, confused. “It almost looks like a…”

His brain short-circuited for a moment when he realised the spot Deacy talked about. “Probably from my neck strap,” he suggested.

Deacy shrugged, looking at his toast, his face a peculiar red. “I can make a softer strap?”

Brian shook his head, perhaps a little too fast. “Nah, you just focus on your song. Don’t mind old me. Sure it won’t happen again, anyway.”

“…Okay. Er. I’ll best go for a walk then.”

“Good luck!” Brian replied, grinning and patting his friend’s shoulder, and realised too late he was showing too many teeth to be acting natural.

As soon as Deacy was out of the kitchen he ran to the bathroom, leaving his breakfast behind him. There, dark against the low rise of his shirt, in the poor reflection of the mirror, sat a nice dark spot.  Right in the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

Sighing patiently, he tiptoed into Roger’s bedroom and quietly closed the door. With care, he flung the curtains wide.

“Arughhhb!” said Roger.

“Look!”

Brian helpfully pulled the pillow away from Roger’s head so he could see. Roger batted at him blindly, brow furrowed. Eventually he opened his eyes and immediately rolled them.

“Oh. That.”

“Oh?!” He gestured again to the spot and leant forward, in case Roger had missed it. When Roger reclaimed and rolled back into his pillow, Brian shook a blanket-wrapped shoulder.

Roger’s reply was muffled. “Wear a cravat you ponce.”

“Next time warn me when you give me a love bite!"

Roger rolled over and eyed him closely. “ _Next time?”_ his voice was even and cold in the morning air.

Brian gulped. A pregnant pause fell over them. Roger arranged and sat up against a pile of pillows and stared at him imperiously, eyebrows raised high. The air seemed heavy and awful and Brian struggled to breathe, and was baffled to feel his eyes begin to water. This was it, then. No more… whatever they were doing. Were they still going to be friends after this? Just when the room’s tectonic plates began to border Antarctica, Roger spoke.

“Well for waking me up at bum fuck o’clock, consider _next time_ a long fucking way away.”

“So not now then?” asked Brian.

The room fell into a sort of flabbergasted silence and again, the air was heavy in a – no. This wasn’t a pregnant, cold pause. This was an elephant on top of a teacup kind of pause.

Roger turned to face him very, very slowly, his eyebrows resting somewhere near the peeling plaster on the ceiling. Brian kept very, very still. Half of him feared his mouth opening and having something else predatory leap out off his tongue and eat what ever friendship they had. The other half of him feared Roger and what he would do, and another half feared a heart attack. The last half of him was his brain wondering why he’d suddenly forgot how to do basic fractions.

While Brian was busy questioning reality, Roger’s face seemed to turn a very wholesome pink.

“All right,” said Roger, and patted a spot on the bed next to him.

“I’m fine!” Brian exclaimed, before realising Roger hadn’t been inquiring towards his health. “What?’

“You were being serious, yeah?” At Brian’s embarrassed silence, he nodded. “Well I’ve got a fucking serious morning wood.”

Brian looked. Sure enough, the blankets were poking upwards in the general crotch region.

“Oh.”

“You do too, you tosser.”

“Oh.”

Brian looked back to Roger’s crotch, which was decidedly more interesting. The longer he stared, the pinker Roger seemed to get – and how lovely was that? “Enough time has passed. For it to be _next time_ now, I mean, then?”

Roger seemed to consider this. “I’d say it has. Do you?”

“Unequivocally.”

Brian finally remembered how to move his legs. He paused in the motion of swinging his legs to kneel, with the idea of straddling his friend. The bed had squeaked.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” he whispered. From memory, Freddie’s room was next to Roger’s.

Roger nodded, his eyes wide and shining. He sat up against the pillows a bit more, causing the sheets to fall to his waist. Brian stared at the bare chest. They were not drunk, or overly horny, or even particularly angry, and yet still this seemed to be happening. With shaking fingers, he trailed his hands down Roger from cheek to waist, and grabbed the blankets pooled there. Slowly, like unwrapping a fragile present, he pulled back the blankets to reveal more and more of Roger. There was his hard on, there were his kneecaps, and those were his toes.

“You sleep naked,” Brian said, mostly because he was at a loss for what to say.

Roger let out an amused, embarrassed huff. Wait – embarrassed? He looked up; Roger looked back, his body almost unnaturally still, and his chest moved in quick, shallow movements.

Roger was being very quiet, so there was no reason to kiss him, was there? Still, he was struck by the urge to do something about the flighty look in his friend’s eyes. Slowly, so as not to alarm, he straddled his friend, skin hot against his clothes, and pressed a kiss to Roger’s forehead.

He’d kissed Roger’s forehead many times. Like when they do something amazing together, like smooth out time signatures and bridges. Or when they were happy and sleepy after a gig, or when Roger was feeling restless and down. He thought of a thousand forehead kisses and thinks none of them had ever been quite like this.

Roger had his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed. Brian cupped his friend’s face in his hand.

“You all right, Rog?”

Roger gave a small nod, and then giggled. “Come on, then. You’re giving me blue balls.”

Brian laughed, surprised, quickly stifling the noise with his hands. Roger opened his eyes, and instead of looking embarrassed, or scared, they were bright and sure. He felt hands cup his arse and pull him up. Obligingly he shuffled upwards, trousers uncomfortably tight, until his crotch was level with Roger’s mouth. Roger swallowed audibly, tore at his flies, fingers fumbling and frustrated, until he’d managed to push all offending articles down as far as they would go. They both seemed to sigh in relief when Brian’s erection sprang free.

Humming a bit, Roger licked his lips and took his cock into hand. His other hand disappeared; looking behind him Brian saw it already moving up and down the rather impressive morning wood.

His head snapped back when he felt lips at his tip. Roger kissed the head and pulled back to smirk. Brian groaned, and cut the sound off almost immediately – Roger had his balls. Hissing, he batted at the arm attached to his balls and the grip turned soft and consoling, rolling him in time to the circular motions drawn by Roger’s tongue on his cock.

Roger finally opened his mouth wide and Brian thrust in, swallowing his moan. Roger’s throat was open and easy at this angle, and very quickly the hand moved from the base of his cock to cup his arse. Roger looked up and opened his mouth wider still, pulling Brian’s hips forward. Taking the hint, he thrust impossibly deeper. Roger choked around him a little, but held him deep thanks to his hand locking Brian’s hips into place.

The bedsprings squeaked loudly and they both paused, cock tickling Roger’s tonsils. After a moment, with no sounds emerging from next door or otherwise, they relaxed.

Brian looked down at the sight they made, and felt very naughty at having his clothes on while Roger was as naked as a babe. With a rush of confidence, he took Roger’s hands away from their places and held them against the bed frame. Slowly he started thrusting, one hand tangled in Roger’s sleep-mussed hair, and the other holding his friend’s wrists bound.

Soon Brian had to hold Roger down with his calves – cock untouched, Roger was bucking, seemingly trying to curl around enough to use Brian as friction. His eyes had rolled back into his head, pupils blown and jaw slack, but his hands were still against the bed head – even at times using his muscles to help Brian retain his hold.

At the sight of his friend in such throes, and with his member so lovingly tended to, Brian came. He came and kept coming, surprising himself with the strength of his orgasm. His cock slipped a little in Roger’s mouth, and some of his spend leaked out the sides. At the same time, he felt a warm spray spurt onto his back, right through his clothes.

Roger went all boneless on him, falling back deep against the pillows, swallowing and gasping for air. Brian slumped onto his friend’s midsection, sweating and panting.

“I need a shower,” he complained, and Roger giggled. He kissed Roger on the forehead. And grimaced at the sticky feeling on his back. “You’ve ruined my shirt!”  he said, without heat.

“Once you’re done I expect breakfast. Full English!”

“You’ll have to come down and get it, slugabed.”

Roger poked his tongue out and laughed.

It was just rather sad, Brian thought as he retired that night, that Roger didn’t meet his eye much for the rest of the day.


	6. And the one time they didn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's left to wonder over an increasingly distant Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After overwhelming encouragement, I did end up using bits of the discarded angst. Hopefully it's cohesive, but after a few days of pulling my hair out over tone and style and flow, I'm a bit drained and thus please excuse any errors or awkwardness.

After his bath, Brian slunk back to his room and shuffled through his wardrobe, finding a collared shirt that was mostly clean. _Next time,_ he whispered. He buttoned the shirt as high as he dared, without making it too obvious he was hiding something.

 _Next time_ , he thought again as he watched Roger blankly walk past him on the way to the music room. _Next time?_ he wondered when Roger skipped dinner.

“ _Next time,_ ” he prayed as he undressed for bed, later that evening. His fingers shook as he brushed over the love bite. Why were they shaking?

Later in bed, he decided he was simply lonely, and pushing his negative thoughts onto his best mate. He thought about Deacy and his wife, Veronica. Would he find someone like that? What about Freddie and Mary? Although, he wasn’t sure about how long Freddie would play at being straight for, he definitely loved Mary in some way. Freddie and John had someone to come back to. Someone who was home and beauty and balance. Someone to tell everything to. His heart fluttered, wanting to believe he already had someone like that.

He wondered if any of the girls he’d met so far would fit the bill. Perhaps the redhead in St Louis. She had been short, fiery and funny. Or the gorgeous bottle blonde in Allentown  – actually no, best not, he thought, grimacing. A dream girl then. One with thighs and a jolly good bottom. He imagined carding his hands through beautiful blonde hair. Her big blue eyes would melt when they looked up at him. He would pull her in by the waist and kiss a surprisingly flat chest, and –

Oh, that was Roger. Just Roger. Making a prettier girl than most girls he knew.

Brian sighed and got out of bed. Careful not to make a noise, he moved the two steps across the landing to Roger’s door and stood in front of it. He raised his fist and at the last moment put a silent palm on the door, not knocking. Right now, Roger was as far away from him as he had ever been, and that knowledge _hurt._

Who was Roger to breeze in and out, giving him blowjobs like that anyway? Well, it’s not like Roger would be faithful. If he was honest with himself, neither would he. Probably. Maybe. If a really lovely one came along he wouldn’t mind sharing her with Roger, either at the time, physical and raw, or shyly discussed over coffee the next morning. Although even that made him feel a little uncomfortable. What were they then? Mates?

Was he being used? He didn’t think so. Was he using Roger? The thought alarmed him for a moment, before his mind conjured Roger’s voice: _stop being a tosspot_.

Sighing, he turned around, trailing a wistful hand down Roger’s door. He fell asleep slowly and painfully alone.

Several hours later, he woke up wrapped around his pillow. He wasn’t sure what woke him from his troubled dreams, but he did nonetheless, and rather suddenly too.

“…ing christ you’re a heavy sleeper. Wake up wake up – oh good you’re awake.”

He suffered from a bit of cognitive dissonance when he placed the voice. “Roger?”

“No, it’s me, the ghost of Christmas past.”

He looked about wildly. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see anything. “Am I in your room?”

“What? No!”

“Am I in my room?” he asked, still confused.

“No you’re in Freddie’s,” replied Roger.

“Freddie?!” he whispered, scandalised.

There was a groan and a thump as the bed strained under the sudden weight of an extra man.

“I was thinking we should talk about something,” Roger began, voice trickling down from somewhere over his left shoulder. 

Brian didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything over the rush of blood in his ears.

“This _is_ your room,” Roger confirmed after a moment.

He rubbed his eyes, willing his heart rate to calm. “This talk… involves you coming into my room at – what time is it?”

“Four thirty,” Roger supplied.

“Thank you. At four thirty in the fucking morning?”

“It rather does, yeah.”

“Oh,” said Brian. “Okay.”                              

He felt his arm raise and then Roger flopped into it, lying beside him. Roger made an odd noise. He squeezed his friend’s shoulders encouragingly.

“I think I… um, seems to me like we’ve been working too hard. At each other’s throats. That’s why we’ve been… you know. Lately. _More_.”

Brian swallowed and nodded. Roger smelled good, his hair fresh like soap. Fuck, he'd missed this.

“There’s no girls, yeah?”

“Right?” he agreed hoarsely.

“I haven’t been with one since, um…”

“The brunet in Kensington,” Brian supplied.

“Oh, right. Did I tell you? She used too much—“

“Teeth. Yeah.”

“Right.” Roger paused awkwardly. “Do I really tell you everything?”

Brian felt hurt. “I should hope so. You’re my friend.”

Outside, a rooster crowed and the early purple strands of pre-dawn filtered in. A bang downstairs made them both jump.

 “Friend?”

“Always,” said Brian, and he meant it with his heart, no matter how much his heart seemed to be hurting right now. Something told him this was very important. Roger was his friend, no matter how often they fought or slept around.

Roger, however, when he spoke, sounded lost.

“Right. Right. Er, good talk. Mate.”

“Right?” Brian said, as his heart did a confused dive out of his chest. Roger was moving as if to get up.  

 “I best get back to my room. Finish sleeping.”

“Yeah, okay. If you want.”

Roger hesitated. “We’re still right, yeah?”

“Best friends,” Brian confirmed.

Roger tensed and pulled from his arms.

 

* * *

 

On their last evening in the Herefordshire farmhouse, Deacy popped his head into the kitchen, looking concerned. “Brian, is Roger all right?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders and took a melancholy sip of his tea. Deacy broke eye contact and blushed a little.

“It’s just… he keeps playing my song.”

“ _You’re My Best Friend_?”

Deacy nodded. “Two hours now. You think he’s still angry at having to sing the ‘happy at home’ line?”

Brian gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “I’ll see where he’s at.”

“Rog, you right mate?” he asked as he descended the stairs.

Roger turned down the music to a whisper and whipped around. His blue eyes were shining like he’d been crying, or even just been really, really happy. With the way he bounced up and down at the sight of him, Brian guessed it was the latter. He smiled, unable to help it, but it was a sad smile, remembering the distance between them of late.

Roger exhibited none such inhibitions.

“Brian!” Roger said, waving him over. “He wrote it about his _wife!”_

Brian folded his arms and put on his best stern face. A part of him felt angry at Roger for suddenly acting like they were all hunky dory.

"Deacy’s tied his knickers in a knot wondering what else he’s done wrong with the fucking song.”

“Is he?” Roger looked shocked, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Brian resisted the urge to feel Roger’s forehead.

“I’M AN ARSE, DEACY. Your song’s **BRILLIANT**!” Roger exclaimed upwards, very, _very_ loudly. Brian winced and shook to remove the ringing from his head.

The farmhouse stayed silent for a few more seconds, before Deacy’s quieter reply fumbled down: “…Thanks!”

Roger turned to him, animated. “It really is Brian. Listen!”

He was reaching for the playback when Brian stopped him.

“Yeah, I’ve listened to it.”

“Don’t you think it’s the best song ever?”

“Um, no?” _You’re My Best Friend_ was great, granted, a bit pop, but hardly the best song _ever_. The way _Bohemian Rhapsody_ was falling together, however…

Roger seemed to deflate a bit. He fiddled with some knobs for a bit before brightening up.

“Well. You always were a blockhead, Brian,” he said cheerfully.

“True. Are you all right? During rehearsal you were quite adamant you hated the song.”

Roger seemed to deliberate over what to say. “Listen,” he urged, shaking his head, and turned the rehearsal tape up loud.

Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had  
I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine  
And I want you to know that my feelings are true  
I really love you  
Oh, you're my best friend

Brian raised his eyebrows when he noticed Roger trying to bore a hole into his skull with his eyes as the drill bits.

“Rog—”

“Shh! It’s us, you twat!”

Roger started to sing along. “Ooh, I've been wandering 'round. But still come back to you.” Brian swallowed, feeling less human and more like a cornered cat. “Ooh, you make me live.”

He cleared his throat. “Gotten over the ‘happy at home?’ line, then?”

Roger winced. “Still not fucking rock and roll,” he said, echoing his earlier words from rehearsal. His big eyes drooped to his lap. “But I get it now. It’s a different sort of life. Or the same life. Rock and roll is life. Love is life too.”

“Does this mean you’re finally going to change the lyrics of _I’m in Love with my Car_?”

Roger scowled at him. “Fucking twat. I’m trying to tell you—”

Roger got up and started pacing. Brian felt like he should be amused, but instead, his heart was in his lungs.

“Oh fuck it,” said Roger, stopping to grab him by the shoulders. “You’re my best friend, Brian.”

When Roger gave no follow-up, he replied, baffled. “Thanks? You too?”

“No, you enormous, gangly fucking tosspot. You’re my best friend and I love you _as well_.”

“I love you too.”

“No, you don’t understand, _I_ _lo_ —”

The rest of the phrase settled rather nicely against his lips, Brian decided, and pulled Roger closer. Roger, having taken a moment of shock, melted into the kiss. Everything clicked rather together at that point for Brian. Like a song, with all its tricky harmonies and needs, coming as one and what was left was something really rather special.

“Right, mate,” Brian said as they broke apart. “Let’s get us to a room.”

Roger clutched at him. Smiling, Brian wiped away a stray tear on his friend’s cheek. Roger’s red lips wavered when he rolled his eyes and did the same to Brian’s face.

 “I do really like sucking your dick,” Roger commented, and thumped his blond head against Brian’s chest.

“Oh it’s bloody marvellous,” Brian agreed. Roger giggled breathlessly, sounding muffed against him. “But I think it’s time I returned the pleasure.”

Brian smiled and winced when Roger pinched his arse.

“About bloody time.”

Hours, and several slow, beautiful orgasms later, Brian cradled a sleepy Roger in his arms. On reflection, this was hardly different from when Roger slept in his arms on the way back from gigs. Or from times they fought then made up. Overall, he decided, this didn’t change anything – things had changed, rather, from the moment they met. He tried to imagine a moment without Roger as his friend, and failed. He tried to imagine them now as perfect, lovey-dovey couple, and failed. They’d still fight and love, and yes, still sometimes express themselves with blowjobs. Just as they had done from the start. What were lovers if not friends, first and foremost?

The only thing changed, he supposed, was his understanding of it all.

Hugging Roger close, his eyes drooped but sleep remained a hair’s breadth away. A sudden doubt meant he was talking before he even knew he was saying. “Roger?”

Roger made a sleepy noise and stretched a bit.

“How was it?”

“Oh, it was alright.”

“ _All right?”_

Roger ducked, laughing, as Brian threw a pillow at his head.

 


End file.
